


wake up, open the door and escape to the sea

by oneworldaway



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, season 5 didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneworldaway/pseuds/oneworldaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It echoes in your head, like an odd little chime.</p>
<p> <i>Benign, benign, benign.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	wake up, open the door and escape to the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song of the same name by Blaqk Audio. I initially started this a couple of days before the finale aired, so...better late than never?
> 
> Unbeta'd.

The badlands stay ever the same, unaware of the chaos that goes on inside the Warehouse - untouched by the turmoil inside of you. That stillness steadies you, allowing you to catch your breath. In and out, just like the tide. 

You remember the beach vacation your parents took you on when you were six - one of the only trips you all went on together - and how each morning, you’d drag them outside at the crack of dawn, just to watch the sunrise from the shore. The sand was cool beneath your bare legs, but you were cozy huddled up next to Tracy, your mother’s wool sweater wrapped around both your tiny bodies. And a warmth radiated out from within you, something that you couldn’t quite understand at the time. The sandcastles you built would wash away, but this sense that you were _safe_ here was permanent, forever. A happy child knows nothing of the sad adult she will become.

The tide swept over your name scrawled in the sand, but you smiled anyway. Your love for the sun and the sand and the sea would not be erased so easily.

But you’re far away from the ocean now, and your mother’s sweater is folded up and locked away in a chest in Tracy’s attic. She’s taken most of the family keepsakes that have already been passed down to the two of you; you made room in your life for endless wonder, instead.

The truth is that you’re scared of being erased. The badlands know, just as well as the walls of the Warehouse, and they both whisper to you. But you can’t hear them anymore.

So far from the ocean, yet you feel as if you’re drowning.

 

 

~

 

 

You think Boone is probably quiet in a more unnerving sort of way - like a kettle that never comes to a boil. You would always be waiting, always on edge. You imagine she feels that way now. She couldn’t possibly feel at home in a place like that.

She’s probably just itching for something truly stimulating, desperate for a challenge to sink her teeth into. No doubt she lies awake at night, listening to the crickets, and her heart telling her that this is all wrong. Maybe Nate has a white noise machine, or perhaps he snores. The bored accountant who lives down the street might rev up his motorcycle at 2am, making the most of his mid-life crisis. But none of it can drown out her heart.

You wonder if she’d hear the sirens if you collapsed on your way downstairs in the morning. You wonder if you’d wake up to find her fast asleep in the chair next to your hospital bed, or if she’d still be back in Boone, buzzing with the urge to do something more, but inexplicably refusing to give in.

 

 

~

 

 

It echoes in your head, like an odd little chime.

_Benign, benign, benign._

It echoes as the hours tick by, as you drift in and out of consciousness, as you dream. It grows louder when you finally awaken, as the blue light of morning creeps into your room, feeling grounded again for the first time in ages. And it’s that realization that slows your brain down, that finally allows you to stop spinning scenarios around, to simply stop and breathe.

_Benign_ , it whispers.

When the sound stops, you make a promise to yourself.

You’re going to be honest. With yourself, and with the people you love.

You’re going to be honest with her.

 

 

~

 

 

You let Pete drive you to the doctor for your first follow-up. You’ve been trying to let him in more, because you’ve realized that you need him as much as he needs to be there for you. It only makes sense to let him carry some of the load. So you try to be more vocal about your feelings, like when you just aren’t having a very good day. It means something coming directly from you, even if he can read you pretty well, anyway.

Slowly, the weight you’ve been carrying on your shoulders since you were younger than you’d really like to think about begins to lighten.

And when Artie says none of you ever need to go through anything alone, you take it to heart. You remember that it isn’t just your partner who’s there for you - you have an entire family by your side.

So when Claudia finds you sitting over no fewer than six open files, your face drawn into a frown as you struggle to piece a case together, and asks if you’re alright, you don’t hold back. There was a time when you’d try hard to hide the cracks in your exterior from Claudia, but the days when she needed your protection are long gone now.

“Do you ever just feel like you’ve fucked it all up and you don’t know how the hell to fix it?”

And Claudia, who can count on one hand the number of times she’s heard you swear, just smiles. There’s a flash of something in her expression that really gives you the feeling that she’s wise beyond her years. “All the time.”

You smile back.

 

 

~

 

 

You’ve never been one to procrastinate, but this is different. You understand, now, just how precious the time you have is, but you still can’t seem to take that leap.

(Maybe “never” is a lie. Your homework was always done on time, but you put off talking to your father for almost fifteen years.)

It’s more than just nerves, though. You need it to be her decision, too.

Claudia catches you with your hand hovering over the phone. “You’re testing her,” she says, simply. “Isn’t that kind of teenage?”

“Everyone tests each other,” you say. “Over and over again, we wait to see if they’ll call first, and over and over again we’re proven right that they never will.”

Even Claudia, in all her wisdom, has nothing to say to that.

“But sometimes,” you say, “people can surprise you. And those people are worth fighting for.”

 

 

 

She doesn’t answer, so you leave her a message.

 

 

~

 

 

You nearly wear a hole in your bedroom floor, pacing, unable to solve this puzzle on your own. You head downstairs to make yourself a cup of coffee, and find Steve looking out the kitchen window, drinking his tea. He tilts his head at you, and you remember your promise.

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” you tell him.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and his eyes twinkle in that way they always do when he gets to call someone’s bluff.

_Of course_ , you think. No more excuses. You already knew the truth, anyway.

 

 

~

 

 

She says that Mrs. Frederic asked her, recently, to help vet a possible new addition to the Regents’ ranks, but she respectfully declined. (She’s gripping her mug so tightly, her knuckles have turned white.)

She says she never thought she’d find something as pure and good as Christina again, but since she has, she has to protect it. No matter what.

You say you’ve found something like that, too. And that’s why you’re fighting for it.

It even sort of feels like a cliche, but the background noise of the cafe all seems to fade away. The only thing louder than the tide coming in is your heartbeat in your ears.

 

 

~

 

 

The town hums with the promise of new beginnings, but the badlands are quiet as ever. They’ve left it up to you to welcome the new year.

You miss the sunrise from your spot in bed, but still you feel it warming you as it burns your name into the ground outside; you’ve been firmly planted right where you belong. The sun rises, and you feel yourself opening up to face the sky.

In the spirit of New Year’s Day, you make another promise to yourself.

For the rest of your life, you’re going to spend as many mornings as possible just like this - warm and safe next to her, the soft sound of her breathing infinitely more beautiful than the sea.


End file.
